131st Company: Sarge's Story
by skipperxotter
Summary: The experiences of a reluctant soldier. Companion piece to WWZ Drabbles. Rating subject to change.


**I do not own WWZ**

**I do own Jean ****鉄****argeSurge, my other OCs, and the 131****st**** Company of AGS. The Mongolian stuff I made up. **

**This is purely a fiction work. **

**XxXxX**

Let me tell you the story of the 131st Company, one of the top AGS units as well as one of the most uncelebrated.

My name is Sergeant Jean "Sarge" Surge and this is the story of my experiences from the before the Great Panic to the end of the Ghoul War.

XxXxX

I was never a particularly ambitious man, as long as I had three square meals, a place to sleep, and some money to spare I was content.

I was comfortable; I had a house I owned, a lovely wife, two children, and a job as a gym teacher. During the day I taught high school students to exercise safely and trained the school's track team. At night I spent time with my children and wife, occasionally coming home late after working out at the local gym.

It was a simple but charming life.

It was too good to last.

After several years of pleasant monotony my oldest child was crippled in an accident. She had always been rambunctious and rebellious, doing things that she was warned not to and all that. It was shortly after her 13th birthday that she decided that she was old enough to ride her bike without her helmet and, despite several warnings from both her mother and I, pedaled off to school one morning without her trusty purple striped bike helmet strapped to her head. She made it almost to the school lot before the car hit her.

The doctors told us later that if she had been wearing the helmet she would have saved herself from the permanent brain damage.

Things fell apart fast from then on.

My wife blamed me for the accident, telling me that it was my fault for setting a bad example for our daughter. I couldn't say anything in response because it was true; I never wore a helmet when I biked and my daughter had simply been trying to emulate me. We divorced a few months later, my wife gaining custody of both of our children. She moved back in with her parents after forbidding me from ever seeing our children again. At the point I sold my house and moved into a small apartment complex; mostly in a vain attempt to leave behind the shame and memories. I hit the gym on a regular basis during that time, trying to wear myself out so I didn't have to think about anything.

Now that I look back on it, the divorce is probably what saved me when the Great Panic hit.

XxXxX

I heard about the first attacks like everyone else on the west coast did, on the evening news. The news about some new strain of "rabies" didn't matter to me, I was too busy trying to keep myself together. While it had been well over two years after the divorce I was still trying to get my emotions under control; even then an occasional wave of regret would send me reeling on my metaphorical feet. The breakout of some disease on the other side of the country meant very little to me, much to my current regret.

I wasn't worried about when my downstairs neighbors suddenly moved to the apartment next to me. I brushed off them buying several sheets of heavy duty steel and wood planking as some strange construction project. I ignored the multiple purchases they made of bullets, fire arms, dried and canned goods, and medications. What I couldn't ignore was the massive stockpiling of water and the jury-rigged water pump. The previous actions I could explain as overreaction to potential epidemic, but the water system was just too strange. Stranger still was the permissive attitude our landlady had taken. I remember her being a small thing, maybe 4'8 and well into her seventies, turning a blind eye to the illegal activities of all my neighbors. She had always been a strict law-abiding citizen, to willingly ignore the tapping into a federal water well was completely out of character.

I remember asking her why she was allowing all this to happen, why she stopped renting apartments on the first floor, why she encouraged people to move to the second story or move out. She had taken her time to answer, studying me with surprisingly clear eyes and said:

"The Hungry Ones are coming.

She went on to explain that in her homeland of Mongolia that what her people called the "Hungry Ones" came out during the warm short summer months. The horrors behaved in the same way that the attackers in the news did, ruthlessly and without reason. The only defense against the creatures was to destroy the head and burn the remains, anything less would provide the curse that possessed the "Hungry Ones" to spread. It was the curse, she claimed, that was to blame for the existence of the creatures though once touched by a "Hungry One" the injured party was cursed forever. The old woman lectured me for several hours, detailing the weaknesses and strengths of the enemy that would come. She stressed that part very clearly, the "Hungry Ones" would come and they would come quickly; America's gentle climate would provide no defense against the challenges that would come. I left her second story home with a mind filled with information...and filled with doubts.

Back then I considered myself to be very much a logical based thinker, everything had a reasonable explanation. Cursed cannibalistic humans that could curse others with a touch? Bullshit! What does some old lady know? I held on to that attitude with stubborn pride, openly scoffing at the preparations of my neighbors.

But, despite my self-righteous air I began to doubt myself and wonder if my landlady was right after all. She had been so earnest, her eyes filled with memories and painful honesty, I couldn't bring myself to completely disregard what she had said. So I started buying extra boxes of protein bars, an extra gallon of spring water, a few more cans of soup, a bit here, a bit there, every time I went shopping. Within a month of her warning I had amassed a collection of preserved food to feed a family of four for six months. Over the course of several weeks my wardrobe was completely replaced with long jeans, close-fitting jackets, thick socks, and several pairs of hiking boots. I brought home a baseball bat from the local sports store, but didn't invest in any other weaponry.

I was...very lucky during that time.

XxXxX

It was during the height of summer when we got our first swarm. The Great Panic had already swept through the area, leaving much of the city and surrounding area empty. A vast majority of people had abandoned the city, heading up north or fleeing to the coast in desperation. My apartment complex on the other hand was geared up for the long haul. Every stair way was cemented over with smooth metal sheets creating a steep ramp that even the most determined ghoul could not climb. The entrance ways to the stairs had been reduced in size, allowing only one or two ghouls to in at a time. There was a massive fenced in garden behind the complex, protected by a triple layer of heavy steel grating and chain-link. Fresh water could be pumped in with the pipeline that connected directly to a federal well. Electricity from a gas-powered generator that one of the families had brought in. We had a fenced walkway to get to and from the garden, retractable ladders to get in and out of the individual apartments, and rooftop trapdoors to visit each other. But, of the twenty families that had originally lived in the complex had been reduced to a mere four, not including myself.

One might think that my apartment complex was some how psychic or just plain paranoid to have so successfully prepared ourselves for the undead blight. The truth was that all my neighbors _had _lived through smaller ghoul outbreaks. The families that remained where all immigrants, foreigners who had come to America in search of their fortunes and safety from the undead. It was their skills and experience that kept me safe during the two weeks we where under siege, defending our home against a swarm of Zack two hundred strong. I'm ashamed to say that I wasn't much help during that time. I spent the first week in fervent denial that the undead existed and the next week frozen with fear.

All in all, I was never really in any danger during that period. Anything that may have killed me or caused permanent injury was prevented through the skills and experience of my neighbors. I had it good until I joined the army, which is the complete opposite of what Anegel, Rust, Johnny, and Kamet all went through.

XxXxX

It took the better part of two years before the army showed up to reclaim my town. I wasn't interested in signing up, to be honest, I was too comfortable. I didn't care if my neighbors were signing up, I believed that I had done my part in surviving the crisis. Sure, I helped show the soldiers how to navigate around the strip malls and empty suburban neighborhoods, but I did so as a civilian.

Oh, the other members of the apartment tired their best to convince me to join; after all they where all signing up, why wouldn't I? But as I said, I was firmly convinced that I had done my part and deserved to relax and enjoy myself.

My views changed when I met Gabriel Ford for the first time.

**XxXxX**

**So it begins. **

**I apologize if the introduction isn't that interesting, but it'll get better from now on. Or so I hope. **


End file.
